


The Meteor City Incident

by Darwin



Series: Hunter x Hunter Collection [2]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-06-07 20:26:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6822784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darwin/pseuds/Darwin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meteor City was nothing more than a legend three weeks ago. It was meant to stop children from misbehaving and act as fuel for campfire stories. The true story is now unfolding in real time, and all cameras are on the decrepit metropolis. Things change quickly in this world.</p><p>The V6 and the Hunter Association are pressed for time. The powder keg could combust at any moment. They need to be prepared. Unfortunately for Cheadle Yorkshire, the best Hunters are currently containing a level A threat from the Dark Continent and political tensions are high in and out of Meteor City.</p><p>Prompted by Leorio, Gon and Killua are en route. With any luck the reunited duo will be able to provide some assistance. Only time will tell.</p><p>Three opposing sides, two secrets, and the catastrophic combination of two worlds. The Meteor City quarantine is underway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“This place is disgusting.”

“Take it up with the locals, though I wouldn’t recommend it.”

The two men have been patrolling the outskirts of Meteor City for two hours now, keeping an eye out for any ne’er-do-wells. The V6 is well aware of the type of people living here. Most have no desire to leave the network of shantytowns built in and around the heaps of garbage within this forsaken place. That being said, the vast majority would jump at the chance to defy an intergovernmental organization. Subverting authority is something of a civic pastime for the citizens of Meteor City.

 _Citizens_ might not be the right word. Denizens is more appropriate. These people have no records or official methods of identification. The nearest settlement is hundreds of kilometers up the coast. It can safely be assumed that anyone not in uniform is a local. Thus, the order to shoot on sight.

“Why is the V6 even worried about this place? It’s trash living in trash.”

“‘Cause, Bert, that Association splinter group washed up here after their little expedition. It’s all political. I shouldn’t have to tell you _that_.” The goggles obscure his eyes, but he is certain Bert can feel them rolling in exasperation.

“Don’t be a dick, Miko. You know I get _that_ much.”

“You know as much I do, if that’s the case.”

“Just listen, all right? These guys have been gone, what, a year and a half? Two years, even? I’d bet good Jenny that they found somethin’ over there.” Not this again.

“You know I don’t buy into that crap. We’re here to apprehend some defectors and patch things up with the Association. _That’s it_.”

“That’s the thing! There have been dozens crossing the ocean since these guys left, but most never make it to wherever they’re goin’. Even if they do, the survivors tend to be crazies. The V6 has _never_ used this much force during a quarantine. These ops typically last a couple o’ hours. We’re on the _second day_. Don’t even get me started on the Hunters, those guys--”

A strange glint of light twinkles in his periphery. Normally, Miko would chalk it up to twisted metal reflecting the moon’s light, but this is too focused, like a beam. Carefully, Miko descends the pile of rubble, leaving Bert to ramble on about nothing important. Once level with the light, Miko begins to look more intently. The light gradually becomes more intense, and he can perceive movements that suggest running. In response, he jogs toward the light, thinking it another soldier. They all have flashlights attached to their helmets. Then, the light disappears. Reflexively, he brings his rifle to bear.

“Who’s there?” All is silent.

“Miko, where’d you go? You know we’re not supposed to split up.” Lowering his weapon, he whips around to greet Bert, thankful he followed. It’s not until his eyes adjust to the darkness that he realizes he is alone. Bert repeats the question, but now Miko registers the accompanying interference.

Using his earpiece, Miko responds with, “I thought I saw something out in the distance. I decided to take a look.”

“Yeah? Well, get your ass back here. I can’t even see you anymore.” Miko lets that sink in for a second. He had no idea that he had wandered this far off.

“‘Kay, I’m heading back to you.” The way is dark, even with his flashlight. Fortunately, the path he had taken is more or less a straight shot, so retracing his steps is not a problem.

Instead, Miko has another problem entirely. At irregular intervals, he hears the garbage shifting. Certain that his mind is playing tricks on him, Miko continues onward, though prompted to move slightly faster with each subsequent noise.

It is not long before he can spot the heap of garbage at which he had parted with Bert. There, he sees his partner standing, looking away from him. Miko scurries up the side of the heap with haste, still able to hear the noise over his loud clambering. He allows himself a breath once the hill has been conquered, though he does not indulge in idleness. The noise seems closer now, and Bert has yet to notice him or it.

Reaching out to grab his shoulder, Miko says, “Bert, sorry about that, I--” before being cut off by the uniform falling to form a bundle of shredded cloth at his feet. Left rolling in the sludge are the empty sockets of a human skull with bits of flesh still clinging on.

Bile rises in his throat, but he has seen worse. The noises are all around him now, growing louder and louder. Shadows occasionally rush past the light cast from his helmet, a blur of black. He is determined to remain calm and stick to standard procedure.

“You are violating the quarantine of Meteor City! In accordance with the internationally recognized charter of the V6, you are under arrest! Failure to comply will result in--” but he is cut short, along with his life.

“Execution?” The cut is clean. The heads rolls off the shoulders, landing with a thump, followed by the rest of the body. Behind the dark figure appears a taller, slender man.

“I’ll never understand why you like to play with your prey. I filleted this one within seconds, but you had to go and turn your kill into an ordeal.”

“It’s in my job description.” Pale fingers toy with the dead man’s rifle, inspecting the stock, magazine, and sights.

“We don’t need these outfits to sneak in, you know.”

“I know. I want them.”

“ _And_?” The taller of the two looks expectantly, as if the other has something else to add.

“What else is there? We’re thieves, we steal.”

* * *

“This is an absolute disaster!” For once, Cheadle agrees with the general. The quarantine of Meteor City was declared three days ago following a video posted online by the insufferable Beyond Netero. In said video, the fool effectively managed to start worldwide panic while simultaneously destroy the reputation of the Hunter Association. Now, instead of taking matters into her own hands and getting her people out of Meteor City, she has been forced to play jump rope with what feels like an endless amount of red tape.

Of course, the general is lamenting the official reports of the quarantine. The V6 is demanding the arrest of Beyond’s expedition party, the Hunters sent in to capture him, and official confirmation on the status of the Sixth Calamity. Not publicly, as it would make the V6 look ineffectual in the face of a global threat, but the pressure can still be felt. Instead of success in these endeavors, he has reported the deaths of over one-hundred men. Needless to say, he is not happy.

“We haven’t even successfully completed a thorough sweep of the perimeter, and they want a full invasion?”

“Our intelligence estimates roughly twelve million inhabitants. Of those, one-quarter are assumed to be trained militants,” she cannot help to sigh as she makes the same request as before, “This could all be avoided if you would let my people into the city.” Cheadle has not finished speaking when she notices his twitching vein. It is an unfortunate tell, truly.

“Based on your track record, you’d send in a team and they would join ranks with the enemy!” She has neither the time nor the patience for this. Pinching the bridge of her nose, Cheadle dismisses herself, much to the chagrin of the general.

Outside is the hustle and bustle of an impromptu military operation. She passes Morel putting on a show with his smoke, the soldiers entirely unaware of the mechanism behind the intricate shape transformation. She checks in with Beans, who is in the middle of a routine debrief. She even manages to strike up a conversation with Sanbica, though it ends with the doctor becoming incredibly frazzled.

Cheadle eventually returns to the Association airship, retreating to the quiet of her study. Her days have consisted of monitoring the two-way radio she entrusted to the team officially sent to track down Beyond and pouring over her operations log. It is tedious work, but she is not one to be caught unprepared. As it currently stands, that particular trait has kept the Association afloat in the tumult of Beyond’s return.

The log has, unsurprisingly, remained unchanged. Kurapika has a talent for being detailed yet succinct. Overall, the log of information surrounding the journey fits in with Don Freecss’ journal, though the V6 had been rather liberal with the omissions. Still, she has trouble grasping that the journey takes at least six months for an experienced crew. Both parties departed one year and six months ago, meaning they had spent very little time in the Dark Continent. Furthermore, they were only out of range after six months. The journey might have been even longer.

She is so familiar with the text that she finds herself finishing sentences that break with the margins. The pages are so fully annotated that her hands are invariably blotched with ink upon setting them down. She acknowledges how neurotic this behavior is, but it helps mask the anxiety she feels. Several excellent Hunters are currently in the middle of a city of scorn, possibly contending with the Sixth Great Calamity.

Leaning back into her chair, she lets out another deep huff. It is in this lax position that Cheadle realizes how sleep deprived these recent events have left her. Deciding that the radio and documents on her desk are not motivation enough, she begins searching through her drawer. Finding the remote, she swivels her chair to face the television. The bright flash of the television leaves her temporarily blinded, but her eyes eventually adjust. The booming voice of Beyond Netero blares through the speakers. She tenses on instinct, having come to associate this video with all of the trouble currently plaguing her.

The recording starts with very little consequence. Beyond seems to understand that he has committed an unforgivable crime by travelling to the Dark Continent. He seems willing to accept the necessary punishment. He even seems, if at all possible, humble. Then, the bombshell. He has information on an inevitable Sixth Calamity. He is currently containing a threat ranking A, otherwise he would turn himself in. As if that was not news enough, he makes a direct appeal to Cheadle, stating that his handlers are in need of assistance. The V6 somehow managed to decode this incredibly cryptic message, coming to the realization that the team of Hunters sent to stop Beyond was allowing the expedition to unfold and actually tasked with keeping the collateral damage to a minimum. Then, the farewell, all done in the bravado characteristic of Beyond Netero.

The video always does the trick, reinvigorating Cheadle with the energy necessary to stay at the ready, if only to squash Beyond into a stupid, bloody pulp. However, things are slightly different tonight. Her vision is hazy at the edges. She will not fall asleep. She cannot fall asleep.

* * *

Leorio wakes up a mess of cracking joints. His back, sore from the tight squeeze, pushes against the wooden container. This was the only way out, though the throbbing pain he feels is screaming that there must have been another way. Peering out from under the lid, he spots two children pulling the wagon forward. Judging by the position of the sun, it must be nearing lunch. As if in confirmation, his stomach growls, reminding him that he has been without food for two days.

Eager to return to something resembling society, Leorio slinks out of the wooden container, careful to avoid making any sudden movements. There is no sense in scaring these kids senseless. He lifts his right leg first, then the left, before plopping down on the wagon’s interior. Then, avoiding broken glass and rusted nails, he crawls to the end before sliding out slowly.

“Heh, not bad, not bad at all,” he says as he brushes the dust from his blue suit, torn and tattered from his time in the Dark Continent. “Now, where’s civilization?”

Right hand over his brow, he searches for the destitute metropolis that is Meteor City. Once located, he figures he should head in the opposite direction. Darting between one pile of junk to the next, he scans each sightline before sprinting onward. His mission, to get in contact with the Association, is of the utmost importance.

The instructions Kurapika gave were clear. If he can manage, attempt to get in touch with the Association without the help of the V6 soldiers. However, if the opportunity arises, piggybacking is acceptable. Really, whatever gets him to the Association the fastest.

As if on cue, Leorio notices a figure in the distance. Unsure of the figure’s allegiance, he attempts to close the gap by hiding after every other pile of trash.

“Bingo.” A man in uniform. Leorio begins to holler as he runs toward the lone figure and brandishes his only form of identification.


	2. Chapter 2

“We are now entering the third week of the Meteor City quarantine, and it appears that no progress has been made in identifying the next Great Calamity. The V6 has remained tight-lipped in this respect, though official reports are not promising. However, in a statement delivered by General Kuzom--” Click. What a pointless broadcast. The media thrives on sensationalism, but this has been a month-long endeavor. These things should lose some wind.

Killua arches his back at the sound of ruffling sheets, but then realizes that Gon is simply tossing around. It is something he is still not used to. Alluka was always so quiet. Gon, on the other hand, is always restless, even when unconscious.

He cannot help to steal a quick glimpse at his friend. He has changed so much since they separated. Gon has grown taller, more muscular, and decidedly hairy. The brute even managed to grow a respectable pair of sideburns. However, appearances be damned when concerning Gon Freecss. He is essentially a larger child.

His gaze shifts absentmindedly to the vast grasslands beneath them. The long stalks of dew-covered green and yellow reflect the pale orange glow of the early morning. To the west is their ultimate destination: the lovely Meteor City. The epithet elicits a soft chuckle from the Zoldyck. Meteor City is the direct antithesis of that description. Any place that produced Kikyo Zoldyck could never hope to be anything remotely pleasant.

Killua feels his stomach lurch and twist. His immunity to toxins is no match for the greasy slop domestic airship services claim to be food. Getting up from his seat, silent so as to not wake Gon, he grabs his laptop and heads to the bathroom. Once inside, Killua does his business, washes his hands, and proceeds to sit on the toilet lid while sifting through files. He opens a folder labeled IMPORTANT, skips past his notes, and clicks on a link that takes him express to the Hunter website. It is here that he finds the video the doctor directed him to, along with a whole slew of other information detailing the increasingly dire situation in Meteor City. Killua pops in his headphones.

Beyond Netero. _Netero_. The name always makes Killua pause. The burly man with flowing black hair is not just a relative of the late chairman, but his son.

The video is the same as before, but Killua keeps hoping for a hint as to the status of Kurapika. From what the doctor told him over the phone, Kurapika stayed behind to detain a threat from the Dark Continent. According to Beyond, the threat is rank A, higher than the Chimera Ants. Killua cannot help to wonder how powerful the Kurta has become that he is necessary to combat a rank A threat.

A knock brings him out of his own thoughts. “Sir? Sir, we will be landing shortly.”

“Sorry. I’m almost done.” Killua can hear the flight attendant walk away, apparently satisfied with his response. Grumbling at the ridiculous rules of airship safety, yet unwilling to cause a scene, Killua returns to his seat. Waiting for him is a bright-eyed Gon.

“Good morning, Killua!”

“Morning, Gon.”

“Buckle up, we’re gonna be landing soon!”

“Gon, there is really no need to yell. I am right here.”

“I’m just excited to see Leorio and Kurapika! Is Killua even a little bit excited?” Truth be told, Killua _is_ excited. The old man and the vengeful blond are part of his family, and the prospect of reuniting their little quartet is nothing short of exhilarating.

“Yeah, I am. Now, pipe down. The flight attendant keeps shooting me dirty looks for having such an obnoxious friend.”

Saluting as he puffs out his chest, Gon exclaims, “Right! I’ll be super quiet!”

“Idiot.”

Killua has missed this.

* * *

Alluka ducks behind the mound of snow and initiates Zetsu. The warmth of her aura clings tightly to her body, enveloping her in a thick shroud. Acutely aware of her ragged breath, she attempts to calm her nerves. Her pursuer is a trained combatant and will pick up on any cues. She needs to play this smart.

In that same vein of thought, Alluka begins to sprinkle snow on her coat. Masking her presence does nothing if she is physically visible. Once complete, she lies down in the snow. Her weight, though relatively low for her age, packs the snow, resulting in audible crunches. She shakes with each sound produced.

She has successfully collected herself, but her exhalations remain uneven. She begins to realize that she is not scared, but enthused. It is illogical from a rational perspective, but Alluka understands perfectly. This is a test of skill, fitness, and mental fortitude. One misstep will spell her doom. This knowledge acts as a sort of primal motivation that she has never experienced in earnest. It spurs her on, bringing her closer to her objective.

Alluka attempts to assess the situation, but her position makes the task nigh impossible. Her only options are to use En, rise from her spot, or remain until she develops hypothermia. Taking the chance, she activates En.

She feels a chill run down her spine. Her pursuer is quick to identify her location. With a start, Alluka begins sprinting toward the cottage. She needs to make it to safety or everything is over. The footfalls of her pursuer are growing louder. Just a few more strides.

“You’re it!”

Alluka groans in frustration, turning around to face Palm Siberia with a pout. “I almost had it that time!”

“Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, I’m afraid.” Palm shrugs off Alluka’s protests, instead moving toward the porch. “Come on, I’ll get started on dinner.”

Reluctantly, Alluka follows after her guardian, lower lip hanging all the while. “How do I know you refrained from using Wink Blue?” She is grasping at straws at this point.

Palm is fast to retort. “Simple. I would have found you immediately. As it stands, that was excellent work.” Palm is sincere. Alluka has made remarkable progress. “In fact, your Zetsu is almost _too_ good. How do I know you didn’t ask Something for help, hmm?”

“Hey, you know that I am always practicing!” They both know that. The only time Alluka is not honing her skills is when she is doing homework or sleeping. In the latter case, she has even started activating Zetsu while sleeping.

“I know, I know, and I’m proud of you. You have a lot of talent. Now, take a seat while I prepare dinner.” With that, Palm disappears into the kitchen, leaving Alluka at the table.

Alluka considers starting the homework for next week, but decides against it. She is already receiving top marks, and working too far ahead will make her even more bored in class. Instead, she tries contacting Something. As expected, there is no response from her. It aggravates Alluka to no end. Alluka has been slightly mopey since big brother left, but Something broke off from everyone entirely. Even Palm, whom Something adores, has not talked with Something since big brother left with Gon. Alluka cannot help to worry that Something is depressed. She wants to help, if at all possible.

Palm interrupts her thoughts by placing a tray of warm buns on the table. Palm, easily picking up on Alluka’s troubled look, inquires, “What’s the matter, Alluka?” Alluka wonders if big brother ever became this annoyed with her own perceptiveness.

“Well, it has been... quiet, you know?”

Palm thumbs the crust of her bread, eventually poking through and releasing the heat trapped inside. “So that’s the problem, huh? I won’t pretend to understand, but I can say that saying goodbye is hard.” Taking Alluka’s hand in her own, she adds, “Something just needs some time.”

“I understand that the response is generally normal. However, it is not the sort of behavior I have come to expect from Something. That is why I'm worried.” Palm simply nods, allowing Alluka the opportunity to vent her frustrations. “I'm also a little scared. This is the longest Something has ever gone without speaking to you. To me.”

Reaching out, Palm holds Alluka’s hands. “You just need to give her time. If you need help finding a way to pass the time, come see me. I’m here to help.” The beeping sound of the oven reminds Palm of her domestic duties and she excuses herself from the table to attend to them.

Before Palm crosses over to the kitchen, Alluka rises and says, “Palm? You taught me a lot of things on the road, and I really appreciate everything you've done for me, but we never really had a kitchen. I would like to know how to cook, and I am hoping--”

“Get in here! This is the beginning of a whole new kind of training, the likes of which you have never endured!” Palm commands with a flourish before exuberantly proclaiming, “Tonight, we feast like queens!” Palm has yet to break a promise to the young girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Turns out the HTML was acting really wacky. I had to manually change each paragraph break from br/ to /p. It was really tedious, but the chapter looks a lot cleaner now.
> 
> Looking at this piece as a whole, I am nearing the conclusion of what I have dubbed Part I in my draft, which is primarily exposition and placing all the players on the board. I'll most likely finish Part I within the month and upload the chapters as quickly as I can manage. It will probably be a minute before I continue with this story, but I find it exciting that the first third of this story (at least, plot-wise) will be around 5k-8k words longer than my first story! I also have plans for some side stories that occur during/slightly after this piece, and I really, REALLY have the itch to write them when I get the chance.


	3. Chapter 3

Leorio is beginning to wonder if there exists a force that derives pleasure from his misfortune. He had signed up for the Hunter exam, but he never expected to encounter a sadistic carny. He had picked his friends, but he had no way of knowing that one is an amoral maniac, another an emotionally-stunted brat, and that the last has been nursing a decade-long vendetta against one of the most fearsome group of thieves to ever grace the world. Thieves who happen to have him bound to a chair with strange threads in a nondescript room that reeks of melted plastic.

He recognizes the taller of the two. He has a long face and his hair tied up in a messy fashion. Also, the sword. The man always has one hand on the hilt. Those features and mannerisms were imprinted onto the surface of his brain, along with the memory of a blonde woman in a purple suit and a seemingly peevish woman with pink hair in the lobby of a luxury hotel in Yorknew.

Unfortunately, the swordsman was not the one wearing the uniform. That man is currently dressing into what Leorio assumes to be his usual attire. The outfit is fairly macabre, but the aesthetic complements his sickly white appearance. He is an aspect of death.

“All right, listen up,” the swordsman pauses to look at the license they seized upon his capture, “Leorio Paradi--how do you even say that?

Grinding his teeth, Leorio enunciates carefully. “Pah-rah-deh-nite.”

“Right, whatever. We have a simple request, and then we’ll get you to wherever it is you need to go.”

Leorio cannot contain his surprise. “Really? Wow, I thought you’d be a little more--” The movement of the pale man in black was too fast for the doctor to perceive. There was only a blur and the warm sensation of blood trickling down his neck.

“Don’t cooperate and I’ll leave you a shadow of the man you once were.” There it is.

Leorio gulps audibly before responding with, “No need to worry, I’ve got nothin’ to hide.”

“Good. Nobunaga will do the prodding.”

That answers one question. The swordsman is named Nobunaga. Leorio desperately tries to remember the information Kurapika has amassed on the Troupe, but everything is blank. Realizing the futility, Leorio instead begins to analyze the risks and benefits of divulging the whole truth. For starters, he has the greatest chance of surviving if he is complicit. However, he is not certain of their intentions.

“I guess I’ll start with the one on everyone’s mind. What and where is the Sixth Calamity?”

* * *

Cheadle’s eyelids rise lazily. Her poor vision, compounded by the fog of sleep, leaves the world around her various shades of green, yellow, and blue. Her left hand gropes the paper littering her desk in a feeble attempt to locate her glasses. The tips of her fingers eventually land on cooled rims, and she slowly brings the ocular aids to her face.

The first thing she notices is her disheveled appearance reflected onto her monitor. The second thing she notices is the paper stuck to the right side of her face. The last thing she notices, the detail that jolts her awake, is the glow of dusk pouring in through her window.

Cheadle glances at the clock. _20:42_. Cursing under her breath, Cheadle tries and fails to tidy up her hair and clothing, using the aforementioned reflection as a reference. She debates whether it is best to be honest with General Jax or to devise some sort of lie as to why she is late. Either way, he will be livid.

Speaking to herself, she flatly states, “Well, any and all chance of a unified front hinges on how well I can spin this situation.”

With that, she begins sprinting speedily toward the command center. She mentally checks off all possible contingencies, but she never planned on lack of sleep beating her. She always thought the bureaucracy would be her undoing, or an attack intended for Pariston. Considering Ging is with Beyond and the others, the second option is out of the question, leaving her to contend with the bean counters and paper shufflers.

Arriving at 20:44 with no particular plan, Cheadle decides to enter uncharted territory. She decides to wing it.

* * *

“Well, that was pretty enlightening. Thanks for the straight answers, er,” Nobunaga takes a moment to think before confidently declaring, “Ol’ Reo! Yeah, thanks again, Ol’ Reo.” Figuring it foolish to risk his life over a common mistake, Leorio quietly sighs and provides a nod in acknowledgement. Then, the swordsman moves toward the door.

“Wait, what about our agreement?” Leorio would be jumping out of his seat if these strange threads were not holding him in place.

“Huh? Oh, right. I’ve got to make a call, but don’t worry, we’ll keep our word. Try and relax.” With a dismissive flick of the wrist, the swordsman is gone and out of the room.

Meanwhile, the pale one sits in the far corner, sharpening a blade. Leorio tries to avoid paying him any heed, but the shrill sound of metal running over metal continually increases in intensity. In an act of weakness, Leorio takes one furtive look. It takes a second, longer look for Leorio to realize that the pale man is no longer in the corner. Frantically, he twists and turns, scanning every inch afforded by his position in the room.

“Behind you.” Yelping, Leorio lurches forward. The doctor lands face first, though he manages to shift his weight just enough to land on the right side of his face and avoid breaking his nose. Cackling, the pale man soundlessly moves to the left to get his fill of the doctor. He playfully twirls a black umbrella. Leorio swallows his pride, though the shame leaves him feeling red in the face.

“Angry, are we? You are surprisingly undisciplined for someone who went to the other side. You might just be an Enhancer or an Emitter. They tend to let their emotions influence their aura. Such thick-headed people.” Leorio ignores the taunting. The pale man does not relent, this time leaning in closer. With a whisper, he says, “Or, you might truly be an insignificant weakling sent on an errand to die.”

Leorio releases his aura. His Ren engulfs him. The pale man dons a delighted grin and reveals his sword, hidden under the umbrella. Unable to swing his fist, Leorio rocks his body right, then left, then right again. His fist collides with the floor, leaving a sizeable crack in the foundation. A fist appears out of the pillar behind the pale man, aimed at the occipital bone.

The blow does not connect. Instead, Nobunaga stands holding Leorio’s arm and the collar of his comrade’s cloak. Nobunaga has an odd smirk splayed upon face.

“You sure have guts, Ol’ Reo! Lucky for you, I just finished talking with the boss when I felt you let your aura loose.” Nobunaga releases Leorio’s fist. The projection retreats into the wall and rejoins Leorio on the floor. Nobunaga walks around to face the pale man before saying, “I know how you like to play with our guests, Feitan, but we did strike a deal with Reo.”

“Whatever. What did the boss say?”

Nobunaga smirks unsettlingly at that. “Well, I’m going to head out with Machi and scout the area Ol’ Reo told us about. You are going to escort our friend and finish the job.” Absolutely perfect. The one he had to fight will be his companion.

“All right, but tell Machi to fit the uniform to my size. I can’t stand wearing it as is.”

“I’m not a goddamn tailor, Fei!” A female voice from outside of the room, presumably this Machi character.

Nobunaga leaves the room with hands out in a display of peace, carrying the uniform with him. He quips, “Come on, Machi! The show starts at 20:30. The boss needs this, and you can have this fixed up in no time."

All the while, Leorio remains on the floor, trying to figure out how he has managed to survive despite meeting a psychopath at every corner.

* * *

In her time as the head of the Hunter Association, Cheadle has acquired the very important skill of maintaining appearances on television. This skill is quite unlike the superficial demands of her former occupations. Her brief stint as a lawyer taught her to cultivate a genuine air of class and sophistication, but public broadcast is an entirely different beast. Everything is hidden under layers of cosmetics. Conversations billed as organic are typically contrived and rehearsed until both parties can repeat the lines in their sleep. Cheadle knows that she has practiced endlessly, and the general has probably done the same. That being said, she is roughly a quarter of an hour late.

As such, she passed through the hastily assembled dressing room, allowing only the necessary adjustments in order to appear halfway respectable. Once done, she positioned herself for a quick entrance when given the cue. As expected, the general’s veins are undulating under his worn skin. One of the communications officers gives the motion. It is showtime.

“Excellent of you to join us, Chairwoman Yorkshire.” The tone is a combination of relief and barely suppressed fury. Cheadle is sympathetic. She takes a seat to his right and faces the camera.

“Thank you, General Jax. I had to take care of some business, as you already know.”

“Oh, yes, I am aware. We are fortunate to have come across one of your men, aren’t we?” Cheadle perks up at the mention of her people. This will be an interesting dance for information.

“Indeed. Of course, my being there was only a formality. In future events, I believe I can trust the V6 soldiers to handle such delicate procedures.”

“That’s high praise! We actually have live footage of the man, if you would allow us to play it.” Cheadle is starting to think she may have judged the general too harshly. He is certainly making this easier on her than he needs to.

“Please, do so. Then, I could begin the public address of what the Hunter Association has been able to accomplish with the help of the V6.” With that out of the way, the feed from the cameras trained on them is cut. Now, Cheadle is staring at Leorio, the Boar, devouring what looks to be military rations. She is left wondering just how long the man went without food to be eating such an unsavory meal so voraciously. The general does not seem to approve of this shot, as it is not the most upstanding portrait of a Hunter, but he allows it to roll for a few seconds longer.

“Well, there you have it. Our first contact with the inside. For those just tuning in, this man, Leorio Paradinight, arrived only minutes before our broadcast, thus the lack of information provided. However, I believe that the combined efforts of the V6 and the Hunter Association can use this opportunity to bring this quarantine to an end.”

Cheadle is ready to provide earnest affirmation when the lights go out.

* * *

Like before, a sack was placed over his head. The Troupe is keen on keeping Leorio in the dark, literally and metaphorically. In the hour spent hiking through the refuse on the outskirts of Meteor City, Leorio asked two questions. The first, an inquiry regarding why he must continue to wear the sack when they have been walking for half an hour. The second, a request to relieve himself. Both were met with silence.

Worse yet, Feitan refuses to give directions. Painful pokes with his sword are the words used to communicate that Leorio is straying too far from the path. Given his current state of blindness, Leorio is feeling a little like a pincushion. However, the urge to yell at the pale man fades in remembrance of that wicked smile.

One thing has been bothering the doctor, and that has to do with the uniform Feitan is currently wearing. Leorio assumed that Feitan is hoping to infiltrate the ranks of the V6, but he is not quite sure what that accomplishes. The approach is too involved to be an assault. The Troupe could easily overwhelm the V6 forces in a head-on attack, even with their few surviving members. They must have some sinister plot in the works. Leorio tries not to feel like an accomplice, but his conscience weighs too heavily upon him. He is compelled to ask his third question.

“What are you planning to do with that uniform? Or should I not even ask?” Nothing. Leorio should have figured. This pale, little man wants nothing to do with him. Right when Leorio believes himself ignored, Feitan provides an answer.

“The boss wants to make use of my talents.” He then pricks the doctor with his sword, adding, “Move. We need to be there before 20:30.”

Biting back a curse, Leorio heaves a heavy sigh. In the end, the one exchange they shared left him with more questions than answers.

* * *

The lights are back on after roughly ten seconds. There was a small commotion in the scramble to find the source of the problem, but nothing spectacularly bad. Cheadle had prepared a response to the slight technical issue.

“Sorry about the outage. Meteor City and the surrounding area is not well known for its infrastructure.” She let out a light chortle, as if the joke had been particularly funny. Her laugh is cut short by a sharp scream and a command to cut the feed. Alarmed, Cheadle begins looking high and low for any sign of a problem. Then, realizing that the communications officer gave an instruction to cut the feed, she apprehensively faces her left. Cheadle feels a knot form in the pit of her stomach. Slumped back into the chair is the body of General Jax. His head is on the table and facing the camera. The sight is comically horrific, as if the scene had been ripped straight from a cheap horror flick. Cheadle wonders how the audience would react to such an awful display. Fortunately, the broadcast delay should save their skin.

“I said cut the feed, damn it!” That is worrisome. The delay is seven seconds long, and the communications officer gave the command to cut the feed well over seven seconds ago. Rising from her seat, Cheadle makes a show of looking disgusted with the scene, keeping her face scrunched until she is out of the frame. Once clear of the camera, she begins a mad dash to the relatively bare studio control room set up in an adjacent tent. As expected, the entire crew has been killed in a similar fashion. Fumbling with the buttons, Cheadle eventually finds the master switch. By the time she has accomplished this act, audiences around the world have witnessed twenty-two seconds of the headless general.

Slumping down in defeat, Cheadle makes the conscious decision to take a break. She is not sure when she will have an opportunity to do so in the near future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy scene shifting, Batman. Sorry for that. I hope it reads all right.
> 
> So, in light of the recent manga chapters, I have decided to tweak some details for this story. The plot is largely unchanged, but some characters had to be removed (R.I.P. Baby-head and Majora). Basically, this story takes everything before chapter 359 into account, so keep that in mind if you watched the 2011 anime and want to avoid spoilers following the show's ending.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!


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